


Pass Incomplete

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [48]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Scolding, Spanking, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:43:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 48: Incomplete.  The boys catch that scolding - and a pair of bent-over-the-tailgate roadside spankings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pass Incomplete

**Author's Note:**

> The usual...

Tag teaming Dad the night before had been amusing, but really, it gets wearing, thinks Dean, as he walks in just in the nick of time and staves off a Sam/Dad explosion.

“Dad. Sam didn’t leave it incomplete, that’s where he left off night before last, before the power went out.”

There’s a silence in the room, and John frowns at both of his sons.

“I can’t do much without the laptop, Dad, the power wasn’t restored before we left. I went through what we had and made some notes, and then we were heading to you, yesterday.” He refrains from the choice phrases he’s been biting back for the last twenty minutes, like following your orders doesn’t leave time to finish shit like this, among other things. Had Dad not dragged him back into a lengthy discussion while Dean went out to grab breakfast for the three of them, he’d have gone back to it, just to resolve an unanswered question, even though the hunt was a bust.

They sit on the beds and dig into breakfast, and John glances critically around the room. Dean’s packed up, and Sam’s things are a little scattered, a direct result of Dad dragging him into the unwanted discussion immediately after Sam emerged from the shower. He gives his son a frown.

“Sam, get your damn things together. We’re heading out after we’re through here.”

Dean endeavored to spill a container of syrup on Sam before the boy could do much more than take in a breath.

“Where are we going,” Dean asks, and gets his own frown from his father.

“You’ll follow me and stick close,” comes the no nonsense voice. Their extended absence away from working telephones had obviously scared the old man worse than they thought. “We’re going up to an old firing range, get some practice in, and then move on to another town north of there. Lead on the demon.”

Well, that explained some of it. The Demon was the other thing that turned John Winchester into an asshole drill instructor, aside from the various scares the boys tended to give him from time to time. Dean looked at Sam, exchanging a look that simply said we are fucked and I don’t see a way around it, which was quickly followed by a sad Sam look that suggested the possibility of running away, and a stern Dean glare indicating that if Sam tried it he’d pay dearly.

Sam simply took the out that the silence offered, and threw his things together. He couldn’t resist asking his father if he was done looking at the research papers so that Sam could pack them up, though, and when John took his bags out, Dean smacked his younger brother on the butt. Sam simply gave a long suffering sigh, made his own sweep of the room to make sure nothing was overlooked, and trudged out to the Impala.

The firing range wasn’t that much better – not one, but two of the guns the boys brought out jammed, one with a bent firing pin, the other with some sort of debris in the chamber. That one ended with John furiously emptying the trunk of the Impala to inspect the weapons compartment, which unbeknownst to either boy, apparently had mud in it. Not surprising, since for the last two weeks they’d been living in it, but not something that John tolerated, either, no matter what the circumstance. Not of course, that he’d given them the opportunity to regroup from their hunt, and it was pointless to try and explain that to him. He’d simply watched, arms crossed, while the two of them cleaned it out, and stored the weapons in transport bags to be cleaned that evening. Dean sighed to himself, because it would be him cleaning the damn things whether they needed it or not, because Sam would be on research. Usually Sam helped him strip everything down when it needed it.

He wasn’t liking the closed expression on Sam’s face, either, but the boy managed to contain himself. Following John to the remote community they were headed for, the expected argument exploded by the second hour on the road. Dean just let it ride, though, because he was frustrated enough himself to need the outlet. Sam seemed to feel the same, because though the shouting was something to behold, there wasn’t any venom in the words he was tossing at Dean. It was just an old, worn out argument about Dad, and they were both starting to relax, voices sounding a little hoarse, and both of them thinking that maybe they ought to wind it up. The high color had faded from both of their faces, and it was at the precise moment that Sam tossed off a disgusted sigh and apology, and Dean was beginning to reply that John pulled off onto one of the scenic shoulders with a puff of dust.

The boys exchanged a look, as John came striding back to the Impala, and yanked Dean’s door open.

“Both of you, front and center, NOW!”

They managed to trade an oh shit sort of look over the top of the car as they stood, and walked to the front of the Impala. John looked them up and down.

“You think it’s cute to ignore my call? Or were the two of you back there fighting so hard you never heard either of your goddamn phones ring? You think that makes me want to believe you about why neither of you picked up in the mountains?”

Dean all but quivered, and Sam fidgeted. It wasn’t your average sort of oh-shit moment, it was worse.

“It wasn’t like that, Dad – you saw news report about the cell tower-“ Sam’s voice was steady.

“So you were fighting.”

Dean wished Sam hadn’t spoken up. John’s tone did not bode well for either of them, and as they both nodded, the older man strode forward and grabbed first Sam and then Dean, towing both of them forward, grip tight and unyielding. Sam had about thirty seconds to marvel that the three inches he had on his dad STILL didn’t matter, and then both of them were shoved up against the –oh shit- open tailgate of John’s truck.

“NOW!” John barked, and they exchanged a pained glance as they planted their palms flat on the tailgate, bending over as they did so. Not good. So not good. They listened to him stalk back and forth, calming his own temper, and waiting for the expected lecture to start. When it did, it was simply one of John’s traditional lectures, #538, Sam thought they’d named it, Filial Respect and Sibling Responsibility. A twin “yessir!” answered his query as to whether they’d understood him or not, and they were feeling relatively hopeful.

Which didn’t last long, because about thirty seconds later, Dean felt and Sam heard the first of several dozen heavy swats land on his rear end, each one wreaking stinging havoc on a new portion of Dean’s posterior, each one leaving a fire lit behind that Dean wouldn’t be dousing any time soon. He simply bit his lip and closed his eyes, and Sam watched the corners of his older brother’s eyes crinkle with the pain, and tried to remind himself to breathe. All too soon, Dean had let go of his lower lip, and Sam felt the first blazing swat land on his own backside, awakening the ache of the spanking Dean had given him the other day along with the electric tingle of the new swats. Tears came to his eyes, despite his efforts to blink them back, and he didn’t dare look at his brother, just biting his own lip in unconscious imitation of Dean. Finally, the spanking stopped, and John sighed heavily.

“Are the two of you going to behave?” Their affirmative answer was full of regret, and apology, which he was glad to hear. “Do I need to separate you, put one of you in the truck with me?” This one he was curious about, and even more curious to receive a negative answer from both of them. “Stand up and turn around.” He stood watching his two wayward sons fidget in place, feeling wry about the fact that he’d just paddled a twenty four and twenty eight year old. For about the millionth time. His phone went off, and he narrowed his eyes at the boys, pointing at both of them. “Stay put.” He stalked off to the outlook to answer the call.

“Um,” said Sam, and got an answering sigh from Dean.

“Nobody’s fault. Both of ours, I guess. Uh, you ok, buddy?”

Sam grimaced a little and squirmed. “Ok enough.”

“Shit, he’s coming back.” They silenced, standing at half attention.

John looked at them. “Neither of you gonna pass the buck for who started it?”

“Nosir.”

“That was Bobby. Another hunter checked out the area, since I was delayed. Nothing there.” There was an uncomfortable silence, and something in him relaxed, as the knowledge that his quarry was once again unattainable filtered through his being. He stood looking at the sons he’d just disciplined. “Saddle up. We’ll head through to Arizona. There’s a contact on a reservation I need to meet with, and you’ll stay with me, understand?”

“Yessir.”

“Now come here.” He swept both boys into his arms. “It’s not safe for you to be fighing like that when you’re on the road,” he says gruffly. “I won’t stand for you putting yourself in danger needlessly,” comes the quieter tone, and he tightens his arms around them, feeling them both hug him back, if a little reluctantly. Not that he blames them. But he does want them to feel it, remember what they were spanked for, because God help him, he has to keep them safe. “Understand, boys?” He knows they’re all good when they reply with a casual “Yeah,” instead of the traditional yes-sirs, even though he’s aware that they’ll be discussing things in the car, and probably bad mouthing him a little. He’s sure of it when Dean takes a little longer than Sam to let go, and he smirks to himself, posts them both back to the Impala with a swat on each butt, amused when they both yelp.

“Dang, Dad,” comes the protest from Dean.

“Well then, just behave yourselves. We’ll talk to my contact, and work on some research.”

“There’s a job-“

“You’re with me.” It’s the last word, and somehow, it’s relief for all of them. Relief for John knowing that he’ll be able to keep them safe from harm for the time being, relief for Dean in understanding John’s motives, and relief from Sam that even though he’s gonna be cooped up with both of the discipline mad men, they won’t be going out on a hunt as soon as they might, and that suits him just fine. Nothing left incomplete.


End file.
